Sickness and Health
by iamthelie
Summary: Crossing Jordan and House crossover Post season 5 & 2 respectively, consider it AU. Bodies in the Boston morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital. Woody Jordan pairing.
1. Is it Weird?

******Sickness and Health (Part One) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter One: Is it Weird?  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,323  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** Bodies in the Boston Morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first Crossing Jordan fanfic & my second House fanfic. The characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. In fact, I'm almost positive it _is_ wrong. But I wrote it anyway. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, written without seeing any of season 3 or 6 respectively, so... It's not canon... no siree... This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Is it Weird?**

"Is it weird?" she asked, looking over Bug's shoulder. "'Cause I like weird."

"Jordan," Bug said with a sigh, setting down his scalpel and looking back at her. "I thought that you had a case."

"I did. It wasn't interesting. Definitely a stroke," she answered, smiling innocently at him. "I even finished the paperwork sitting on my desk. Now that Garret's out of shock, he's thrilled. So…What have you got?"

Bug shook his head, but he gave in to the inevitable. "This man could have died from any one of five causes. His heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys all failed. Or it could be something else, like the puncture wound on his arm."

"You think that this was drug induced?" Jordan asked, straining to get closer to the body and look at the puncture wound herself. Bug reluctantly let her pass. She looked at the mark and frowned.

"I don't know why he died, not yet. It's like all his major organs failed at once. It's impossible to tell which went first and actually caused his death," Bug admitted.

"That _is_ weird," Jordan agreed.

"Gets even weirder, love," Nigel said as he came in, handing her a paper. Bug made a face, but she wasn't wearing bloody gloves. He was. "Tox screen is clean."

Jordan read the results, frowning. "What did this, then? Who is this guy? We have an id yet?"

"Walter Chambers, forty-seven," Nigel answered. "Hospital transfer."

"So, we have what looks like a fast acting poison—or maybe one we don't know to test for yet—that cleared his body," Jordan said, tapping her finger on the toxicology report.

"Wait a minute," Bug said. "What makes you so sure this is poison?"

"I don't know anything natural that causes multiple organ failure rapidly enough to go undiagnosed, do you? And it has to be fast acting because if it was still in his system, the hospital's tests should have caught it," she explained. "Whatever this is, they didn't catch it or he wouldn't be here."

"Jordan—"

"Come on, Bug. It's weird," Jordan said, smiling. She wanted in on this case.

"Yeah," Bug agreed. "But it's Woody's case."

* * *

Jordan had to regret her big mouth. It was always getting her in trouble. Like now. She hadn't meant to get involved in one of Woody's cases, not intentionally. Occasionally, she was the answering ME on his cases, but she didn't butt in on them anymore, not since he'd started dating Lu Simmons, not since JD's death. But she'd made the mistake of opening her mouth to correct one of Bug's assumptions just as Garret's bad mood and impatience to leave on a long anticipated vacation and Woody's insistence that he had to have one of the morgue staff with him coincided. Now she was stuck in a morgue transport with Woody and two dead bodies on her way to Princeton Plainsboro Hospital. 

"We could talk," she began.

"Since when is that ever a good idea for us?" he asked, not looking away from the window. She'd thought things would be different once she was cleared of JD's death, but things had only gotten worse between her and Woody. They were back to the way they'd been just after Woody's shooting, barely speaking and hardly civil.

She shrugged. "We've got a couple hours to kill. Talking would pass the time."

"We would not be in this mess if not for you," he shot back angrily. His fingers tapped the glass irritably. She knew what he meant. _He _would not be in this mess if he had not tried to help her during JD's case. He'd been suspended for three weeks, relegated to desk duty, and now he was playing babysitter to a corpse.

"Okay, true, this is kind of my fault," she began. This time he did look at her, his glare was full of disgust. "Okay, so it's my fault. That doesn't mean that we can't talk. We can. How are things with you and Lu?"

"Jordan, don't," Woody said with a sigh. "Just…don't. We don't need to do this."

"Do what?" she asked, feigning innocence. "I'm just trying to have a civil conversation. Why can't we do that?"

"Because you're not trying to have a conversation. If you were, you wouldn't have asked about Lu. I know you're angry because I said we should take it slow—"

"Which really meant you wanted to sleep with Lu Simmons," she shot back, losing her patience. "I thought—I thought we finally had our timing right for a change."

"We didn't," he said coldly, staring at the road. She looked at him. So much for any conversation on this drive. She should have known she'd pick the worst possible way to find out if he was still with Simmons.

This was going to be a very long trip.

* * *

"Congratulations, Morons," House said, coming into the diagnosis room. "You're getting some help on this one." 

"Help?" Foreman asked dubiously. Chase looked up from his folder briefly, wondering if House really meant it. Cameron rolled her eyes, probably taking offense to the moron comment. "What do you mean, help?"

"Turns out that our patient shows the same symptoms as a couple of dead guys up in Boston. Well, one dead guy, one dead girl. And they're bringing us the bodies and two more brains. Though one's a cop, so we might have another Chase on our hands," House explained.

"House—"

"So, any minute now, we'll have a medical examiner and one of Boston's finest here with our bodies," House continued as if no one had spoken. "Hopefully, they'll tell us what this is before our patient kicks it. When they get here, Cameron and Foreman, you keep them busy. No sense in sending Chase. Not enough brain power."

This time Chase rolled his eyes. He didn't know why he was the one House was picking on today, and he didn't care. Cameron started to stand, gathering her folders. Foreman sighed, reluctantly following House's orders.

Cuddy stormed into the room. "Why am I just now finding out that you have two bodies, a medical examiner, and a _policeman_ downstairs? Apparently here for you?"

"The bodies belong to people who have died of what Mr. Marsham is now dying of. But they wouldn't let me have them without the cop or the ME. Seems they think it was murder."

"Murder?" the exclamation came from the other four of them, and it was deafening. House made a face.

"Geez, say it a little louder, would you?" House asked. "_They_ say it's murder. _I _say they're probably idiots."

"Well, I have to say it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. House," a dark haired woman quipped from the doorway.

"You must be Dr. Cavanaugh," House said. "And the tall, dark, and stupid one is Detective Hoyt."

The man glared at House. Chase looked at him, wondering why he seemed to hate the sight of House's cane so much. He was staring with knowledge…and fear. Chase wondered if Hoyt knew what it was to face painful rehabilitation like House had just done. Interesting.

"Dr. House," Cavanaugh interrupted his thoughts. "I have the preliminary autopsy reports if you'd like to read them."

"Give them to Chase," House said, throwing a marker at Chase to distinguish him. Chase didn't duck in time, and the marker hit him above the eyebrow. He groaned and picked it up from where it landed on the floor. Cavanaugh handed him the folder.

Cuddy pointed a finger at House. "We need to talk."

"Yes, Mommy," House mocked. "After I talk to Dr. Cavanaugh and her caveman. Chase, read those reports and summarize them. Cameron, Foreman, help the caveman put the bodies away. Dr. Cavanaugh, why don't you tell me what little you know?"

The woman had watched the byplay with amusement and shrugged. "Sure thing, Dr. House."

"House," Cuddy ground out. "My office. Now."


	2. Something's Up Maybe Down

******Sickness and Health (Part One) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Two: Something's Up...Maybe Down  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,552  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** Bodies in the Boston Morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first Crossing Jordan fanfic & my second House fanfic. The characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. In fact, I'm almost positive it _is_ wrong. But I wrote it anyway. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, written without seeing any of season 3 or 6 respectively, so... It's not canon... no siree... This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

Thanks for the encouraging reviews... I wrote this story a while back but was afraid to post it. I'm still nervous about posting more. But here goes nothing...

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**Something's Up...Maybe Down**

"Is he always like this?" Jordan couldn't help asking the one doctor left in the room, the one that House had thrown a marker at, Chase. He had buried himself quickly in Bug's autopsy report, but he looked up when she spoke.

"Dr. House?" Chase asked in a familiar and painful Australian accent. "Worse, actually. You're fortunate that Cuddy decided to read him the riot act."

"She does that often?"

"Once a day, usually. Sometimes more," Chase answered, setting aside the report. "Would you like to see Mr. Marsham?"

Anyone that knew her would have known that was a rhetorical question. Her curiosity was peaked. She did want to know what it was like before the…well, before the patient died. She'd imagined that it had been a rather quick death, but it couldn't have been, not if the patient had lasted long enough to make it to House's diagnostic team, reportedly one of the best in the country. She herself had considered asking House for some input on cases that were puzzling the morgue, but she'd never done it. Not even now. She hadn't asked to come here. She didn't know who had.

"Sure. But won't that get you in trouble?"

"Probably," Chase shrugged. "With House, it's a matter of what gets me in the _least_ amount of trouble."

He picked up his files and led her into the hallway. She took a moment to study Chase. She'd been unwilling to look at him after she'd heard him speak, and she knew he'd noticed. But it wasn't like she could say, _oh, sorry; your accent reminds me of my dead ex-boyfriend_. No one would. There _was_ more than an accent that was familiar about Chase, though. "You're Rowan Chase's son, aren't you? I attended one of his lectures a while back. Fascinating stuff. What's he doing now?"

"He died. A few months ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jordan said, flinching. She'd really managed to put her foot in her mouth with that one. And she'd worn the worst shoes to do it with, too. That would teach her to try and impress anyone, least of all Woody.

"It's okay," Chase assured her, though it wasn't, and both of them knew it. He opened the door to a private room. "Mr. Marsham is in here. He came in feverish, and then went into multiple organ failure. We've got a pacemaker keeping his heart beating, he's intubated and on dialysis. There's not much we can do about the liver failure. We've tried, but—"

"But you're just delaying the inevitable," Jordan finished, looking at the man on the bed. He was a living corpse.

"I'm glad you think so," Chase said. "House and Cameron think that we can save him if we find the cause, but…"

Jordan knew what Chase meant. It wasn't likely that a cure—if there were one—would come in time to save Marsham. "We haven't managed to narrow down the cause of death on either victim. All the toxicology reports, even the most out there possibilities we came up with, came back negative. Did you notice any puncture wounds on Mr. Marsham?"

"No obvious ones. Believe me, working for House, you check."

Jordan nodded. She'd expected no less. She looked over at Marsham, wishing that there were more that she could do. Medically, there was nothing. That was why it was easier to be an ME. She knew that she could save the people who came her way, but she could get them justice. "I know House doesn't think this is murder, but I do. Woody does. We're not usually wrong about these things. Chambers was injected before he got to the hospital, probably by someone he knew, because there were no holes in his clothes or fibers in the wound. Same thing with the second victim. And if there are no marks on Marsham…"

"Then the poison was most likely ingested," Chase finished her thought for her. When she looked at him in surprise, he looked down at the files in his hands. "I may not be the doctor my father was, but contrary to House's belief, I'm not an idiot."

Jordan shook her head. "That's not… I mean, I'm just used to explaining a bit more. A lot of the detectives I work with wouldn't have made that leap."

Chase smiled slightly. "It doesn't matter. Trust me, after working with House as long as I have, I'm used to insults."

She still felt guilty that it had even been implied. "I guess we should go back before House realizes we're missing."

"Too late," Chase murmured, looking out into the corridor.

* * *

"So, Detective Hoyt," Cameron began in an attempt to be friendly since the detective had already been insulted and ignored by most everyone else. House was just being House, but Hoyt didn't know it, and Cuddy was too busy trying to restrain House to be very civil. Cameron smiled. "We don't usually have a detective helping us diagnose a patient." 

"Oh, come on, Cameron," Foreman spoke before Hoyt could. "You think House is really going to let either of them in on the diagnostic process? Cavanaugh maybe, but there's no way he'd let a detective know what we do—"

"When you break into people's houses?" Hoyt asked dryly. His smile was grim. "I already talked to Princeton P.D. before we came down. Marsham's should be my case, but otherwise I have no jurisdiction here. I've also got no proof, and I don't want to get involved in any of this. I'm here to watch the bodies. That's all. I refuse to get involved in another one of Jor—Never mind."

Foreman looked at Cameron. She knew that look—it was his "something's up" look. Her eyes went to the detective's rigid back. She could sense that he was damaged. Broken. House accused her of wanting to fix things that were broken, and she _did_ want to help Hoyt. She could tell he was in pain. But that wasn't what Foreman saw. And that intrigued her.

"Where's the morgue?" Hoyt asked. "I can find it on my own. I don't need two doctors to show me."

"Maybe not," Foreman began, "but you don't work for House, either."

"Foreman, he's right. One of us should be checking on Mr. Marsham or running more tests. It doesn't take three people to do this."

"Tests?" Hoyt asked, his tone sharp and suspicious. "What tests?"

_So much for not wanting to get involved_, Cameron thought. "Just standard tests. We're still trying to narrow down what might have caused this."

"Didn't Jordan give you the hospital records?" Hoyt demanded, stopping to look at them. "Oh, don't tell me she didn't—"

_Didn't what?_ Cameron wondered, but as soon as he broke off, he started for the elevator, leaving Cameron and Foreman in his wake. She looked at Foreman for a moment, and then they took off after Hoyt. The elevator doors closed before they got there. Cameron sighed. "What do you think that was about?"

Foreman shook his head, pushing the button. "I have no idea, but whatever it is, our detective Hoyt is in _big_ trouble. This is a babysitting case. They don't give them to detectives. They'd stick a uniform on this, a rookie. Not a detective."

"So he's in trouble?" Cameron repeated, stepping into the elevator.

"Don't start, Cameron," Foreman warned. "He's not the patient. Don't get involved."

She shrugged. "I'm just curious."

"Sure you are," Foreman agreed sarcastically, looking at the ceiling. Cameron chose to ignore him. The doors opened, and she ran towards the sound of raised voices. She and Foreman reached Chase, House, and Wilson, who were just standing there, watching the verbal sparring between Cavanaugh and Hoyt.

"Jordan, how _could_ you? This was supposed to be a simple drop off, the files and the bodies. You were _not_, I repeat, _not_ supposed to meddle in—"

"Meddle? Woody, I am not—"

"Isn't this great?" House asked no one in particular. "All I need now is some popcorn."

Cameron glared at him. "House, there is a patient _dying_ in the other room, and you're standing there, letting them go at each other's throats."

"No offence, Cameron, but you'd have to be daft to try and separate them," Chase said quietly, placing a restraining hand on her arm. She glared at him and tried to pull free.

"Oh, would you get a room?" House's voice boomed over those of Cavanaugh and Hoyt. They stopped, staring at him. House smiled derisively. "Oh, my god. The sexual tension between you two is just so… _tense_. You're as bad as those two."

House pointed his cane at Chase, who guiltily removed his hand from Cameron's arm. She just stared; stunned, knowing she was doing a good impression of a deer stuck in the headlights of an oncoming car. She'd been completely blindsided, and to make matters worse, she heard Foreman snort with laughter.

"I have to get back to the body," Hoyt said coldly, pushing past Cavanaugh and the others. He stopped at the elevator, resignation in his voice. "Jordan, give them the files. You're the one that fought so hard to get them."

Cameron didn't miss the look of regret in Cavanaugh's eyes as Hoyt disappeared into the elevator.


	3. House, MD and Matchmaker?

******Sickness and Health (Part One) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Three: House, M.D. ...and Matchmaker???  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,335  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** Bodies in the Boston Morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first Crossing Jordan fanfic & my second House fanfic. The characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. In fact, I'm almost positive it _is_ wrong. But I wrote it anyway. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, written without seeing any of season 3 or 6 respectively, so... It's not canon... no siree... This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

This part includes the scene that made me write this story. That and a desperate attempt to understand what was going on in Woody's head in season 5...

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**House, M.D. ...And Matchmaker???**

"How long has it been?" House asked, interrupting Jordan in the middle of her explanation of Walter Chambers' hospital records.

She blinked. "What? I told you, Mr. Chambers came to us last week—"

"No, I mean your boyfriend. How long since his rehabilitation?" House demanded. Jordan swallowed. She saw shock on the face of his young protégés, if that was what they really were. Underlings? Employees? Lapdogs? She was having trouble classifying them. House tapped his cane impatiently, waiting for an answer.

She cleared her throat. "Uh…About two months."

"What happened?"

"That has nothing to do with your patient," Jordan insisted. "Just leave Woody out of this."

"Ah," House said, watching her with a smug, assured expression on his face. "_You're_ the reason he's here. And I don't mean in a lovesick puppy sense. He's here, against his will, because of _you."_

It was as simple as that, and yet it was so much more complicated. She was not about to tell House anything, though. She didn't know how he'd figured out as much as he had, but she wasn't going to indulge House's curiosity or whatever twisted reason he had for asking about Woody.

She pointed to the file. "It's all there."

Somehow, she managed to walk to the door, calmer than she really was. Her heart was pounding, the familiar urge to run pressing against her. It wasn't the same, not really, but she felt trapped. She should never have gotten herself involved in this case. She was miles away from Boston; away from people she knew and trusted, without any allies except Woody, who couldn't be considered an ally under the circumstances.

She found herself next to the door for the stairs, and she burst through it, going up, away, anywhere but where she was. Her pace increased as she went further and further up, until she finally ran out of stairs. She went out onto the roof and stopped at the edge. Even this brought up memories…escaping her frustrations when she worked in L.A…. that moment between her and Woody… _Maybe you need someone to hold you a little tighter._

She wasn't sure how they'd gone from that to where they were now. She didn't think she could ever sort it out, no matter how long she spent puzzling over it. She shook her head and dug out her cell phone, hitting the speed dial.

"Lily?"

"Jordan? How—What's going on?"

"I…I'm not really sure, Lily," Jordan admitted. "I don't know what I'm doing here anymore. I should have stayed in Boston."

"Jordan, slow down. What happened?"

"It's everything, Lily. This case, the unexplained deaths, the man that's in that room dying…the people here…House, it's mostly House." Jordan felt stupid, incredibly stupid, as she stumbled out the whole story. She couldn't stop herself, but she wished she had. She didn't want to talk about this with Lily. The one person she wanted to talk to, the one she _needed_ to talk to, refused to talk to her.

"Jordan, have you tried—"

"He won't talk to me, Lily. And House is just making it worse."

"It's what he does best," Cameron said from behind her. Jordan whirled around to see the other woman smiling apologetically at her. "Actually, I think this time he went to bother Detective Hoyt."

"Lily, I have to go," Jordan said, snapping her phone shut. She looked at Cameron. "Where are they? Look, I don't know why your boss is doing this, but Woody—he was shot—no one talks about it—it _changed_ him."

"That's not why I came looking for you," Cameron said. "We need you. Mr. Marsham is dead. And we have another patient."

* * *

"You were shot," House said, causing Woody to look up at him in surprised anger. He should have heard that cane coming, but he hadn't. 

He frowned. What exactly did House know? Had Jordan—No, Jordan wouldn't have told just anyone about the shooting. They didn't discuss it. Either House was a good guesser, or he'd looked into Woody's past. It wouldn't have been hard. An internet search would probably have turned up enough. The cop killer had been big news in Boston. So was Woody's survival.

"You're not answering," House continued. "Sore subject?"

"No, I just don't see how it's any concern of yours," Woody shot back. He took a sip of his cold coffee and waited for House to leave. He didn't need visitors. He wasn't investigating this case. He was watching a body. And he didn't need company, though a nurse had tried to make him comfortable by offering him the coffee.

"You're right, it's not," House agreed, surprising Woody again. "But I'll just keep bothering you until you tell me. And if it's not me, it'll be Cameron. She likes to fix things."

"Fine. I was shot. Armor piercing round, through the gut. Took my spleen, nicked my spine," Woody snapped angrily. "Satisfied?"

"Not really," House answered with a smile that Woody wanted to wipe off the older man's face. His hand tightened on the Styrofoam cup. "Bet it was a bitch to rehab."

"Six weeks," Woody agreed, as if those weeks had been nothing. He did his best to forget them and everything else from that time, the shooting, throwing Jordan out of his hospital room, his anger, nearly killing Riggs… He shrugged. "Could have been worse."

"You're hiding behind those words. Pretending that you mean them. But you don't. You _want_ to be over it, but you're not," House contradicted, his observations uncannily accurate. "I'm betting that they didn't know if you would walk again. You got angry; you pushed her away. Am I right?"

"What are you doing?" Woody demanded, getting to his feet and moving towards House. "What is this to you? A game?"

House lifted his cane and hit Woody's chest with it. "You aren't the only one that has done it. I did it, twice. Pushed away a woman I loved. First time, I was angry. Second time… I don't know why I did it."

Woody met the man's gaze, not believing what he had just heard. He wasn't going to agree with House. The cane was still pressed into his chest, but he didn't look away. He took a sip of his coffee. Slow. Deliberate. What the hell did House think he was doing? Woody was under no obligation to talk to anyone. He was on body detail because he'd taken that damn tape and they _suspected_ he'd done more to help Jordan. They couldn't prove that he'd done anything—he _was_ guilty as sin—so they'd settled for making him miserable. So he was here. He accepted his punishment. But he wasn't talking to anyone.

"Hey," House said, whacking Woody with his cane. "I'm _baring _my soul here. The least you could do is reciprocate."

"I have no reason to tell you anything."

"You _idiot,_" House said. "She loved you, and you pushed her away. And now you're angry with her—"

"You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know anything. She led me on a song and dance for four years, and finally said she loved me when she thought I was dying. I told her that I didn't want her pity. She said it was real. If it was real, she would have stayed; she would have fought. She didn't. She walked away, took up with a sleazy reporter. Then…Let's just say I fell for it again. Tried to get over it, but I did it again. The reporter ended up dead. Jordan was a suspect—the _only_ suspect. I helped her. Now I'm guarding a damn body."

"Oh, so that's why you're here," House grinned. "I thought it was because you were an idiot."

"Only where Jordan Cavanaugh is concerned," Woody muttered. "I'll always be an idiot there."

House took his cane away. "You might have more brains than I gave you credit for at first. Don't worry. I still think you're an idiot."


	4. Suspicion Darkens the Door

******Sickness and Health (Part One) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Four: Suspicion Darkens the Door  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,834  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** Bodies in the Boston Morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first Crossing Jordan fanfic & my second House fanfic. The characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. In fact, I'm almost positive it _is_ wrong. But I wrote it anyway. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, written without seeing any of season 3 or 6 respectively, so... It's not canon... no siree... This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

House always has an agenda. If he seemed OOC last chapter, this should explain why. Apologies in advance if anyone is OOC.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Suspicion Darkens the Door**

"You have got to be kidding me," Cavanaugh said, her arms full of Mr. Marsham's tissues. "There's nothing here. Heart, liver, kidneys, lungs, all failed. But the reason they failed…There's no sign of it."

Cameron looked at her, shaking her head. "How can that be? If there's a disease or toxilogical cause, there must be something—we have to find _something_—a way to cure Mrs. Dillard or—"

Chase put a hand on Cameron's shoulder. "Whatever this is, it's too bloody quick. But we've eliminated the common causes. Think uncommon."

"I don't know—a modified form of Ebola? A super drug? Nothing causes this, Chase. You know that. I know that. Dr. Cavanaugh knows that," Cameron said angrily. Her frustration and anger overwhelmed her. Marsham's wife and kids were out of state, visiting her parents. The woman didn't even know her husband was sick, and now he was dead, leaving two young children behind. Cameron felt like hitting something, and Chase was the closest thing. He'd stepped into her path, blocking her. She pounded his chest a few times—not hard, she was upset, not homicidal—before she stopped, bursting into tears. He wrapped an arm around her.

"If," Dr. Cavanaugh cleared her throat, doing her best to ignore Cameron's outburst, despite the sympathy in her eyes, "if these people _were_ killed, then they must have something in common. I know that Nigel and Bug were working on connecting the victims to each other. That link is probably a person since the latest cases were in New Jersey. We need to involve the local police, try and find that link."

Chase looked at her. "House won't cooperate with the police. Can't your detective friend—"

"Woody is out of his jurisdiction here," Cavanaugh interrupted softly. "And he's been assigned to watch over the bodies. If he left…"

Chase looked at her dubiously. "Wouldn't he prefer whatever might happen to watching a body? It's bloody boring. He's probably going out of his mind."

Before Cavanaugh could answer, House poked his head into the room. "Hello, kiddies. Got anything for me?"

"No." Cameron turned away, out of Chase's arms, trying to compose herself. She wiped the last of the tears from her eyes, and straightened her hair and blouse. Cavanaugh kept House busy by explaining what she'd found to him; he didn't believe her and bombarded her with questions.

"What about the stomach contents?" House demanded. "What if Marsham ate some of—"

Cavanaugh's cell phone rang. She held up a finger to silence House. Cameron had to stifle laughter. _No one_ did that to House. "Hey, Nige. What?"

Though the voice on the other end of the line seemed loud enough, Cameron was too far away to make out what the man was saying. Cavanaugh frowned. "No. That can't be right, Nige. No. No, he would have told us. Right. I'll talk to you later."

She snapped the phone shut. House studied her. "Another boyfriend?"

Cavanaugh stripped off her gloves and surgical robe, running out of the room. Cameron was reminded of the way Hoyt had stormed after Cavanaugh earlier, and of the way that she'd found the coroner on the rooftop. She followed instinctively, despite how Cavanaugh was running at a breakneck pace to reach the stairs, going down to the morgue.

Hoyt looked up from the coffee cup he'd been studying as they approached. "Jordan—"

"Why didn't you tell me? Tell us? Damn it, Woody, you _knew_ them. You met Chambers and Anderson before they went into the hospital."

"What? Jordan, I never saw either of them _in my life_," Hoyt said, and Cameron couldn't miss the hurt look in his eyes at her lack of trust. This man wore his feelings on his sleeve. "I had to run down some people on another case, one _was_ named Chambers, but I never met him. I was called to a crime scene. I don't know anything about Anderson. There was a Henderson on that other case. I saw her for a minute before Bug called to tell me Chambers was a possible homicide."

"I'd take his word for it if I were you," House said, spooking all of them. "Unless you're a very messy eater, Detective, I'd say that's blood on your sleeve. Not much, just enough to be from a sloppy needle pusher. Cameron, admit him and put him on everything the other guy was on."

Hoyt looked at his shirt, at the small reddish stain on the sleeve. "What the hell?"

"Oh, god, Woody," Cavanaugh said. "They think—"

"Cameron, get him in a damn bed," House ordered. "Now."

Hoyt shook his head, rolling up his sleeve. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. The morgue is the coldest room in this hospital, which could explain why you're shivering, but you're also sweating. You took off your coat jacket, which means you're past the initial stage of the fever. Your body's temperature has risen, so you feel warm, but you're also cold. And you can't blame your coffee. It was already cold," House said. "I think you'd better tell us how you got that mark."

"I don't—I—Jordan, I swear I don't know. That stain wasn't there before. I changed my shirt right before we left," he looked at her, pleading, all his anger lost in his desperation to make sense of what was happening.

Cavanaugh nodded. "I remember. Bug got some of the stomach contents on you. You nearly threw up, and I let you change in my office because you were being such a baby. But that means that the injection happened—"

"After we got here," Hoyt finished. His eyes were full of fear, his face full of confusion. "I don't remember it, Jordan. _I don't remember that happening._"

As he finished speaking, he fell. Cameron and Cavanaugh rushed to catch him. The coroner held his head in her hands. "Stay with me, Woody. Please."

* * *

"Well?" House demanded.

"There _was_ a puncture wound in his upper arm," Jordan said, weary with exhaustion. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "It looks like someone got him _after_ he took off his suit jacket, which you said he was wearing when you saw him, so after he left me and went back to the morgue, and after you saw him. Or maybe before. Maybe he took off his jacket before you saw him, but when he started feeling cold, he put it back on, but then he got warm again… Your hospital has surveillance cameras in the hallways, right? We should get someone to look at them. The police—"

"Can't you do it?" House interrupted. "From what I've read, you're a crack forensic examiner."

"I don't have the equipment I'd need, and even then, I usually leave that up to Nigel," she said, taking out her phone. She needed Nigel's help, wished that the whole gang was down here or she was with them, that they could solve this… and save Woody.

"Nige, it's me. I need your help with a surveillance feed."

"Look, love, I want to help," Nigel began with a tone that frightened her. Something bad was going on in Boston, too. "I've got to tell you, though, they're pulling Woody completely off this case. Bug and I heard he's been suspended again."

Her worry turned to a burning rage. "Nigel, he didn't do _anything._"

"Love, I know this is Woody, but Simmons found evidence that he met with—"

"He _never_ met Chambers, Nigel. He didn't hide anything. And if that's not proof enough, how about the fact that he's got a hospital bed of his own?"

The line was silent for a minute. "What?"

"He's unconscious, hooked up to dozens of machines, on drugs that he'd hate to know that he was on, and there's no cure for this. None of the other victims regained consciousness. Woody might not… Whatever Simmons found was planted, and Woody was set up. I need your help tracking down who did this to him. I think it happened here. Within a short period of time. I need you, Nigel. I need your expertise."

"Anything for you, love. Just get me the video."

"It's on its way," she told him. "Thank you, Nigel."

House watched her as she hung up. "I take it you got what you needed."

"Nigel's going to look into it," Jordan whispered, taking comfort from that fact. She breathed deeply again, trying to keep herself collected. "Are you sure there's nothing—"

"Cuddy gave me a class full of med students and Wilson's interns to do as many tests as I want I've got them testing everything I can think of. Foreman, Chase, and Cameron are all testing and retesting their theories. Your people are looking for the cause. But there are those that believe there is a spiritual part to healing. If they're right, he needs you there with him."

"He doesn't want me there," Jordan murmured. "It's like when he was shot all over again."

"You think he blames you for his shooting?"

She shook her head. She didn't bother asking House how he knew about Woody's shooting. She didn't really think that Woody would have told him, but it didn't matter. "It wasn't the shooting. It was what I said to him before they took him to surgery."

House blinked. "So he _is_ as big an idiot as I thought he was."

"I didn't tell him I loved him until he almost died. He thought it was pity. Ordered me to get out of his life. I didn't believe him, but he insisted. I did what he asked. He and I… Let's just say our timing has always been off," Jordan finished. "He doesn't want me there."

"You're _both_ idiots," House said. "He didn't believe you, so he told you to get out. If you'd insisted on staying, he'd have had his proof."

Jordan's eyes widened. "What?"

House held up his cane. "I was once where he was. I pushed away the woman I loved because I was angry. He pushed you away because he was angry _and_ wanted proof. You're both prize idiots. He offered you an out that he figured you would take, and you took it, proving him right. I don't know the rest. Frankly, I don't care. But he obviously does, or he wouldn't have done whatever it was that got him stuck guarding a body."

Jordan stared at House. She made a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "Well, you're the last person I expected to say that."

House shrugged. "Got a bet with Wilson."

She laughed. That sounded like House. He'd say anything in his own interest. Still, if she was there for Woody this time… She didn't want to think about there not being a next time. There _would_ be a next time, hopefully not like this, but she would be there for him again. She was not giving up on Woody.


	5. Dead Ringer

******Sickness and Health (Part One) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Five: Dead Ringer  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 838  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** Bodies in the Boston Morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first Crossing Jordan fanfic & my second House fanfic. The characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. In fact, I'm almost positive it _is_ wrong. But I wrote it anyway. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, written without seeing any of season 3 or 6 respectively, so... It's not canon... no siree... This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

I know this part is shorter than what I've been posting. But if I put any more of the story in this section, I'd give too much away...

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Dead Ringer**

Nigel looped the feed through his computer and began to watch. The morgue wasn't exactly the most popular place in the hospital, so he got to watch Woody sit, pace anxiously, sit, pace, and repeat for a while before anything interesting actually happened. First it was the man with the cane. He and Woody had an interesting conversation that Nigel would have loved to hear. He'd go back later and try his lip reading program.

Oh, ho, what was this then?

Woody had been in the pacing part of his cycle, drinking his coffee, when a woman in surgical scrubs bumped him. He spilled coffee on his jacket and muttered to himself as he pulled it off. And that was when the naughty nurse came up. She was friendly, overly concerned.

But she'd stabbed Woody with one hell of a needle. Nigel frowned. How had Woody managed to forget that? It didn't seem possible. Nigel backed up the video and watched it again. From what he could tell, Woody didn't see or _feel_ the needle. He just stared at the nurse like…like he'd seen a ghost, to use a worn out cliché.

Nigel watched the feed again. And again. Then he used a few magic keystrokes and zoomed in on the nurse's face. "Bloody hell."

This case had gone from weird to impossible in seconds. He grabbed the phone and dialed Jordan's cell. He thought he heard tears in her voice. "Nigel?"

"Love, I've got a picture of the woman who did this. You're not going to believe this," he told her as he quickly sent the photo to her phone. "You said Woody didn't remember how this happened?"

"Yeah…It freaked him out, Nige. He went all white and…He said he didn't remember."

"I don't see how he could forget, love. The woman's a dead ringer for Devan."

"What?" Jordan exclaimed. "That's…It can't be…She's…She's dead, Nigel. She's been dead for _two years_. She can't have done this."

"I sent you the image, love. Look for yourself." He knew that he was daring her to tell him that he was wrong. And he wanted to be. For all their sakes. "How is Woody?"

"They're doing everything they can, Nigel. But there's no cure for this, and we all know it."

"Jordan—"

"I have to go, Nige. There's a policeman here to speak to me."

* * *

"Okay, we need someone to help us," Lily began, her voice strangely calm. Maybe it was from her experience comforting grieving families. Maybe it was because she was used to playing referee. Maybe she was the only sane one left. "A police officer. Normally, we'd ask Woody, but he's—" 

"Dying?" Bug suggested morosely.

"What about Seely?" Nigel suggested. He didn't want to think about the fact that Woody was fighting for his life in a strange hospital miles from Boston. Or how worried and scared Jordan—fearless, bold, reckless Jordan—had sounded over the phone. She was distant. It wasn't just that she was far away in a physical sense. She was gone in other ways as well.

"Seely?" Bug scoffed. "Are you out of your mind?"

"What, you think we should ask Simmons? Or maybe Buggles wants to reunite with Detective Framus," Nigel shot back.

"Boys," Lily interrupted loudly, causing both of them to bite back what they'd been about to say. "We'll use Seely. He's come through for us before. Now, you two—Nigel, you said that security video, that it had Devan on it?"

"It _looked_ like her," he agreed. "But she's been dead for two years."

"If she died in the crash," Bug muttered.

"Maybe they just _wanted_ her to look like Devan," Lily suggested. "Maybe whoever did this knew it would shock Woody enough to make him forget the needle."

There were too many maybes in this case, Nigel thought. Bug was nodding, though. "The killer knows Woody. She tried to frame him, didn't she?"

Lily shook her head. Nigel knew that she was unwilling to believe that the person who murdered at least three people and would probably end up killing two more was a person they'd all worked with and knew. That it had been Devan. He didn't like the idea himself. Devan was pushy, overbearing, but a killer? He didn't think so.

"Nigel, is there more to the tape?" Lily asked. "Did you find out where this woman went?"

"She probably left the hospital, love," Nigel told her, but he turned back to his computer and started the footage again.

"Yeah, she did," Bug agreed, "but did the syringe?"

"Damn," Nigel muttered. "I don't have enough of the tape or all the angles. I lose her the minute she rounds the corner. Lily, you call Seely. I've got to get more of this tape."

Lily nodded and left the room. Bug looked at the screen. "Do you think this could be Devan?"

Nigel shrugged. "I have no idea. But if it _was _her, why would she do this?"

For that, Bug had no answer.


	6. Never a Mistake

******Sickness and Health (Part One) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Six: Never a Mistake  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,959  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** Bodies in the Boston Morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first Crossing Jordan fanfic & my second House fanfic. The characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. In fact, I'm almost positive it _is_ wrong. But I wrote it anyway. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, written without seeing any of season 3 or 6 respectively, so... It's not canon... no siree... This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

Okay, I apologize. Profusely. The way the last chapter was broken up was sooo a plot device. I'll just take cover now and wait for flames.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**Never a Mistake**

"Dr. Cavanaugh, I don't have the time or the manpower to track down a ghost that's been dead for two years," the Princeton policeman repeated wearily, shaking his head. He folded his arms over his chest.

Cavanaugh started to protest, but the detective turned to leave. He stopped when he saw Chase coming out of the doorway to the diagnosis room. Chase swallowed. He couldn't sit on this any longer. He had gotten a good look at the picture, and despite the graininess, he knew that face. "You don't have to find a ghost."

Cavanaugh blinked. "What?"

"Who are you?" the policeman demanded.

"She's not your Devan, not unless Devan Maguire also went by the name of Casey Williams," Chase said.

"Now that name I can use," the detective said. "I'll be in touch, Doctor."

Cavanaugh grabbed Chase by the arm and dragged him into the conference room, startling House, Foreman, and Cameron. He let her push him into a chair and watched her grab a phone. She dialed a number on the phone and hit speaker. "Nigel, you're on speaker phone."

Chase flinched as she pointed at him. "You. Speak, now."

He stared at the phone in front of him. He knew that he needed to speak. Confession was good for the soul. It wasn't like he'd never spoken in front of a group before or spoken over a speakerphone. It _was _the first time he'd given evidence in a criminal case.

He cleared his throat. "I knew Casey Williams when she was an intern. We were in the same program. She was also an intensivist. She wanted to know all that she could about the human body. She was bloody obsessed. She was kicked out of the internship program for giving patients treatment without their consent. Some of it was off-label, like an experiment."

Chase felt House's eyes on him. He looked down at his hands.

"Hold on, I'm running the name," Nigel said. "Bingo. Looks like this was personal, Jordan. Our girl Casey did time for accessory to murder. Her mother killed her stepfather. Tried to make it look like a heart attack. Casey here gave her the means. However, our friend Woody and Dr. Macy figured it out. She was just paroled last month."

"And she went after Woody because he put her away," Cavanaugh nodded. "Thank God Macy's on vacation. I'll bet Woody isn't the only one that she wants revenge against."

"And you'd be right," Nigel agreed. "I've got Bug giving Dr. M a call, just checking in again. But we finally found our link. Remember our Mr. Chambers? High school chemistry teacher? Apparently, he didn't like Ms. Williams' choice of science fair project and flunked her. A day later, someone set fire to the chemistry lab. She was suspected, but they never proved it."

"So she may have had a personal vendetta against each of her victims. Keep digging, Nige. See if you can find the links to the others."

Chase felt eyes upon him. House was still watching him. "How did Williams get caught?"

"I turned her in," Chase answered, his voice nearly failing him. Bloody hell. He'd given the information anonymously, but that was no guarantee. "I figured out what she was doing and wrote a letter—I didn't sign it—to the head of the program."

Cavanaugh stared at him. "Dr. Chase—"

House rolled his eyes. "Moron. Just because it was anonymous doesn't mean that she doesn't know that it was you. Take off your shirt. We need to see if she got to you, too."

"Hold on," Chase said quickly, not liking where this was going. "There's a reason why Detective Hoyt doesn't remember being injected. Shock. But I'd know it was Casey Williams. And I _know_ I wasn't injected. Besides, she probably thinks that she got the person responsible. Hannah Anderson. It took me a while, but I made the connection. She was the head of the program."

"So, we've got a psychopath with a strange new drug that wants revenge," House observed. "Hope you didn't reject her for a date, Chase. She might still be after you."

Chase rolled his eyes. "Look, just because I knew her once doesn't mean she remembers me. She was obsessed with her research and didn't remember my name most of the time. And like you, House, she thought I was British."

"Hey—" Nigel began.

"I'm bloody Australian," Chase said angrily.

"Right, mate," Nigel agreed. "How are things down under?"

"I haven't been home in a while."

"What, no flight home for Daddy's funeral?" House asked.

"House," Chase barely managed to keep his temper under control. "Leave my father out of this. It's got nothing to do with Casey Williams or our patients."

"You're right," House agreed like it was nothing, though Chase had never expected to hear those words. He went to the board, erasing Marsham's case notes. He wrote _experiment_ and _heart failure_, and then stopped. "Did our Psycho's daddy dearest have more than one heart attack?"

Foreman raised his head, studying House. "You think he survived an attempt on his life?"

"People _can_ survive heart attacks," Cameron began.

"But not if everything else is shutting down," Chase countered.

"Exactly," House concluded. "Our Psycho wanted to make sure that her victim died. You can revive someone who's in cardiac arrest. You can keep them on a ventilator. You can give them dialysis. Maybe even a liver transplant. Separately, it might not kill you."

"Together, if one doesn't get you, the other will," Cavanaugh finished, nodding.

"We can probably guess what she used to induce cardiac arrest," House said. "You three find out what she used for the rest."

"It's a great theory, House," Foreman said. "But the tox screens on all the patients, even Hoyt, were negative, and we tested him within two hours of when he was injected. If a drug did this, there should be traces of it."

"Not if she's good at what she does," House countered. "Let me guess. She also majored in pharmacology."

"She did," Nigel answered. "Getting kicked out of her internship didn't stop her from becoming a pharmacist at her local drug store."

"Which is where she got her drugs before she went to prison," Cavanaugh said. "Who knows what else she's done? If she killed someone else _before_ her stepfather?"

"I'll dig up everything I can on her background," Nigel promised. "I'll call when I've got something for you."

"Thanks, Nige," Cavanaugh said. "You know, I'm kind of relieved… That it _isn't_ Devan who's doing this."

"I think all of us are, love," Nigel told her. "If you need anything else, let us know. Anything for you, Jordan, you know that. And tell Woody he better pull through this, or else everyone here will kill him."

Cavanaugh laughed. It was short, bitter, and sad. Her eyes were tearing up. "He's in a coma, Nigel."

"Doesn't mean that he can't hear," Nigel said, hanging up.

House smacked his cane on the table, startling them all. "Foreman. Chase. I seem to recall giving you a task. Cameron, you go with Dr. Cavanaugh. Check on our patients."

* * *

Cameron watched Dr. Cavanaugh as they walked back to Detective Hoyt's room. The woman was tired, frightened, and angry, but she held onto a brave face that must have cost her. She'd gone to see Penelope Dillard before Hoyt, had stayed while Cameron did everything she could think of to help the poor woman. Cameron would have understood if Cavanaugh dreaded going into Hoyt's room. She'd felt like that when she went to visit her husband as he died of cancer. Cavanaugh was a strong, admirable woman. 

She took Hoyt's hand, kissing it and closing her eyes. Cameron occupied herself with checking the detective's vitals, feeling like she was intruding. He was stable, but the steps they had taken had bought him hours, nothing more.

"Woody, it's me, Jordan," Cavanaugh said, touching his face. "Nigel says if you don't pull through this, everyone will kill you. Me, I'll desecrate your body."

Cameron stifled her laughter. It wasn't appropriate. And the laugh that came from Cavanaugh was more hysterical than amused. Especially since it was followed by tears. "You have to survive this, Woody. You can't die. Not now."

Cameron finished making notes on Hoyt's chart. She should go. This was private, and she felt like some kind of voyeur. She just couldn't help remembering what she'd felt when she'd sat next to her husband's bed, knowing that he would die, but not wanting to believe it. She'd been so helpless. And she'd hated it.

She didn't realize that she'd voiced any of it aloud until she heard herself asking, "Dr. Cavanaugh, what happened between you and Detective Hoyt?"

Cavanaugh looked up. "It's, ah, Jordan. If we're going to talk, you might as well call me Jordan."

Cameron smiled apologetically. With all the time they'd spent together, they'd never really introduced themselves. "I'm Allison Cameron."

"I think he'd tell you to call him Woody," Jordan said, smiling a little, "if he was awake."

Cameron laughed. "You probably shouldn't remind House of that. We'll never hear the end of it."

"Oh, believe me, he's heard them," Jordan assured her. "Criminals _love_ to make fun of Woodrow Wilson Hoyt."

Cameron tried to suppress her laughter. It didn't work very well. "Is that _really_ his name?"

"Oh, yeah," Jordan answered, smiling. "His brother is Calvin Coolidge Hoyt. Father had a thing for presidents' names."

"His brother?" Cameron asked, frowning. The detective was alone except for Jordan, and Cameron would have thought that Jordan would have let Hoyt's family know that he was in the hospital. Especially since the file for Hoyt was lacking that information. "His emergency contact is you. And you have his power of attorney."

"Really?" Jordan asked, surprised. "I would have thought—I thought he would have changed it. After he was shot, after he…I just expected him to change it."

"But if he has a brother—"

"Woody had a falling out with Cal. It's a long story. He had a falling out with me, but I guess he didn't know who else to put," Jordan looked down at him, and Cameron knew she was no longer talking to her. "Why didn't you change it? If something happened to you… I couldn't help you, not from where I was. What if they thought they could use you to find me?"

Cameron stared at her. Obviously, there was a lot more to this story than Cameron knew. "Maybe it means he believed you would come back."

Jordan smiled at her words. "I'd like to think that."

"Maybe you should," Cameron suggested, wishing she could do more to help the other woman. Jordan looked like she was clinging to any and all hope. If only Hoyt was conscious. Jordan _needed_ to talk to him.

"So, you and Chase?"

"Uh, um…" Cameron stammered incoherently. "What?"

"House said that Woody and I were as bad as you and Chase. Made me wonder what was between you two," Jordan explained with an innocence that Cameron had some trouble believing.

"Nothing," Cameron answered quickly.

"That's the kind of _nothing_ that means _something,_" Jordan said. "You want me to tell you about Woody and me, you tell me about you and Chase."

Cameron's eyes widened. "There's nothing. I was high; I called him. It was a mistake."

Jordan nodded with understanding. "One time or chronic?"

Cameron looked at her. "You and Woody? One time or chronic?"

Jordan shook her head. "It was never a mistake. I love him, and that was _never_ a mistake. As much as I hurt him, as much as he hurt me, it was _never_ a mistake."


	7. Explanations Are a Thing of the Past

* * *

******Sickness and Health (Part One) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Seven: Explanations Are a Thing of the Past  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 2,547  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** Bodies in the Boston Morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first Crossing Jordan fanfic & my second House fanfic. The characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. In fact, I'm almost positive it _is_ wrong. But I wrote it anyway. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, written without seeing any of season 3 or 6 respectively, so... It's not canon... no siree... This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

I realized that I took liberties with the events of "Don't Leave Me This Way" when I wrote this story. But, hey, I slapped the "AU" marker on this story, which makes that okay. Or at least that's what I'm claiming. Just pretend that the first flashback happened after Jordan left for Washington D.C. and the second one happened before she left.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**Explanations Are a Thing of the Past**

Nigel rubbed a hand over his face. So far he'd found information linking Casey Williams to two other victims, Marsham and the newest case, Penelope Dillard. Marsham was a former employer who had fired Williams after a patient died because of a pharmacy screw up. She had denied the claim, countered with a sexual harassment suit that was enough to get her a job at another pharmacy. Dillard had been the wife of the man who died. She had tried to sue Williams for the death of her husband.

Nigel had located Williams' last known address in Boston and given it to Seely. Lily had gone with him to investigate—she was the only one Seely didn't object to—and she'd reported back that Williams' place had nothing to give them. It had already been cleaned, repainted, and rented again. All of the woman's possessions were gone.

He knew that he had nothing to give Jordan. What Jordan needed was hope. And Woodrow Hoyt alive and well and begging for forgiveness. Nigel sighed. He'd meant what he said when he told Jordan he would never again stick his nose in other people's business, but he almost wished he had, that he'd done something to stop the fighting between Jordan and Woody before it was too late. At least Woody had broken it off with Simmons. Nigel didn't know exactly was behind Woody's anger at Jordan, but he knew Simmons was a part of this mess. He'd been present for one of their tiffs, and it was anything but pleasant.

"_Woody, I got the tox screen back. Seems our friend here was—"_

"_Woody, where is she?" Simmons demanded as she pushed her way into the lab. "You helped Jordan escape, didn't you?"_

_Nigel watched as Woody looked at his current flame with annoyance. "Excuse me? Pollack's not my case, remember? Neither is Lance Cooke, thanks to you. Gabrielle Winters is my case. Unless you're taking that, too?"_

_Simmons sighed. Nigel knew that Woody was hanging onto his job by a thread after what he'd done with the tape, but they hadn't suspended him yet. "You were saying, Nigel?"_

"_Right, as I was saying, our friend Gabrielle was—"_

"_Damn it, Woody. I know you helped her. You used our relationship not only to get that tape, but also to help Jordan escape."_

_Nigel whistled softly. Now _this_ was interesting. He didn't know why Simmons was so sure that Woody had helped Jordan escape, but he did know that none of them had any direct contact with Jordan since she'd been gone._

"_I don't know what you're talking about, Lu. Jordan runs. It's what she does, and she does it well. Can I go back to my case now?"_

_Woody was doing a credible job of pretending that he didn't care. Nigel knew differently. He'd worked with Woody long enough to know that dear Woodrow was lying._

"_You told her. You listened to me tell you that we got a tip about Jordan's whereabouts, and you pushed me to tell you where. Begged me to let you help bring her in. And I fell for it. As soon as I left, you warned her. She was gone by the time we got there. You made a call to a number that supposedly doesn't exist. Woody, you warned her."_

_Woody looked at Simmons angrily. "Aside from the fact that you had no right to check my phone records, you've got it all wrong. That number you can't trace? My brother. You can try and track him down, but he's hiding from the Albanian mob. I never called Jordan."_

"_Woody," Simmons began as if she didn't believe a word he just said, "you haven't contacted your brother for months. Not even when you were shot. You expect me to believe you called him the night Jordan disappeared? Why?"_

"_Why not try some shrink talk on me?" Woody asked. "I lost Jordan. I wanted the comfort of family. It doesn't matter. It's none of your business."_

"_I'm here in an official capacity, Woody. I can arrest you for obstruction."_

"_You have no proof. Just a bunch of groundless suspicion based on things you think you know about me. I'm not the one who used our relationship. You are. You're using what you learned when you were my shrink, what you think you know about Jordan, and twisting it because I was stupid enough to think I could get over Jordan Cavanaugh with you. I made a mistake, Lu. I should never have gotten involved with you. But I won't let you pursue a vendetta against me _or_ Jordan because I was weak. We're done. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a case."_

"_Go, Woodrow, way to be a man," Nigel cheered. He found both of them staring at him. "So…the tox screen…Our Miss Winters had one hell of a party…"_

"Nigel," Lily said, interrupting his thoughts. She was back from her little jaunt with Seely, obviously frustrated and looking for some form of comfort. "Have you heard from Jordan yet?"

"I'm supposed to call her, love," Nigel said. "But I don't have any good news to give her. You were there. Our killer's last known address is six weeks old. She's disappeared. And even if we somehow find her, there's no guarantee that what she's done can be reversed."

Lily nodded sympathetically. "Did you find Cal?"

"Cal? No, love, he's a slippery one," Nigel answered, his frustration returning.

Lily bit her lip. "Do you think we will find Cal? If…If Woody needs a transplant… Cal's his most likely match."

"I'll find him, Lily. I promise."

* * *

"_Jordan, you shouldn't be here," Woody said as he quickly ushered her into his apartment, closing the door behind them. He couldn't believe that she was here, that she'd taken this risk. He would have expected her to run after her fingerprints turned up on Lance Cooke. "Don't…don't you realize how much trouble you're in? You shouldn't be here."_

"_You gonna arrest me again?" she asked, a sad smile on her face._

_He sighed. "I should. But I know you didn't do this."_

"_So I get a head start before you call it in?" she asked, teasing, but with little humor in her eyes. He reached out to touch her arm and found himself wrapping his arms around her. He was probably holding her too tightly, but he didn't want to let go. She pulled back a little. "Hey, what's all this?"_

"_You're running, Jordan. I know you're going to run, and I'm not going to stop you. I don't know when I'll see you again."_

_She looked up at him. "Woody, I—"_

_He lowered his mouth to hers. They were just starting to kiss when they heard the pounding on his door. He let her go, even pushed her a little. "Jordan, go in the bedroom. Don't argue. Just go."_

"_Woody," she began, but he shushed her and shoved her in the other room. As soon as he knew she was out of sight, he went to the door, opening it reluctantly._

"_Lu." The way it came out made it sound more like "damn."_

"_Bad time, Detective?" she asked, stepping inside. He watched her, wondering if she was here to sniff out Jordan. He almost wished Jordan had never come, but he didn't. He'd rather go down for her than let her leave without a goodbye. He was such an idiot. Why had he walked away before? Rebound guy, yeah, right._

"_You could say that," Woody finally answered. "Pollack's dead. Jordan's been framed—" _

"_She's also missing."_

"_She's been framed, Lu. And this isn't the first time," he said. He didn't look away. He knew that he gave away too much, was too easy to read, but if he stuck to the truth, lied only by omission, he would get through this._

"_Woody, if you know—" Simmons broke off as her phone rang. "Simmons. What? Where? I'm on my way."_

_She snapped the phone close, and Woody looked at her. "What is it? Have they found—"_

"_Someone used Jordan's credit card. We know where she is."_

"_Wait, Lu. Let me come with you. If anyone can convince Jordan to come in, it's me," Woody pleaded. He didn't know why he found it so easy to lie to Lu. Maybe because he'd been lying to her all along. For all her insight, all her analysis as shrink and cop, she didn't see through him._

"_No. I'm sorry, Woody. But you have a conflict of interest," she said coldly, walking out the door. _

_He closed it behind her without regret. _

"_I guess that's my cue," Jordan said, coming out of the bedroom._

"_Jordan—"_

"_I really think that I should go."_

_She was right, and he knew that. She should never have come, and he should never have taken advantage of the fact that she was here or how she felt about him and almost kissed her. She didn't even know he'd broken it off with Lu. "It could be a set up, Jordan. She might have thought you were here. Give it a while. Not long, just… Let me help you. Please. Just one phone call."_

_She looked at him suspiciously. "Who to? Dispatch?"_

_He shook his head. "Cal. I think he may actually be able to help you."_

_She frowned. "You ordered him out of your life. You told me he meant nothing to you…I know he didn't even come when you were shot…So…Why?"_

"_He didn't stay out. He came crawling back, but not with false apologies, Jordan. He said he wanted to make me proud, and I am…I'm also scared to death because what he's doing is stupid and reckless," Woody explained, taking out his phone and dialing a number he'd promised not to use unless he absolutely had to use it. He knew he was risking his brother's life for Jordan's…and somehow, he was okay with it._

"_Cal? It's Woody. I know, I promised not to call, but… Jordan needs your help." He handed her the phone and walked away. Whatever arrangements they made, he couldn't know about them._

* * *

Jordan squeezed Woody's hand again. She'd end up breaking it if she kept this up, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't let go. She wasn't leaving, not this room, not this spot, not unless there was something she could do to help him. It wasn't easy for her to sit still, to just…be there, but she knew that this was where she had to be, where she _needed_ to be. 

"Damn." She heard a voice in the doorway and turned to see Seely standing there.

"You really that surprised to find me here?" Jordan asked dryly.

"Huh?" Seely's eyes snapped to her. "No, it's just—I didn't expect to see him like this again. After all the crap he's been through, a psycho with drugs… It's not right."

"Wow, Seely. I didn't know you cared," she couldn't help teasing him. It came so easily, took her mind off where she was for a minute, a brief second.

"Hey, I _know_ Hoyt. I may not be 'Mr. Sensitive,' but this is messed up. He survived being shot with an armor piercing round, manages to walk again, and now he dies because of a sicko playing doctor of death?"

"One thing's for sure," Jordan muttered. "You are _not_ Mr. Sensitive."

"Uh," Seely began.

"Don't bother," Jordan cut him off quickly. "Did you find her?"

Seely nodded. "Yeah, we found her. But she got off easy. Died in a car accident, probably right after she got Hoyt. Drunk driver t-boned her at a red light. We found her place, got everything we could, but her…'experiment' notes don't make sense."

"Maybe not to you," Jordan said, her feelings conflicted. She'd been hoping for some miracle. And not a little vengeance. Casey Williams had escaped justice. Her death had only complicated things. Maybe she would have confessed, given them her formula for a reduction in jail time. But now… "Did you have a doctor look at them?"

"Yeah. Crazy guy with a cane grabbed them from me when I tried to find out which room Hoyt was in." Seely looked at Woody again. "All this because Simmons claimed that his judgment was clouded."

Jordan frowned. "What?"

"They've been at it since before you got back. You didn't know?" When Jordan shook her head, Seely continued. "Well, seems Lulu figured that Hoyt helped you with more that tape. She told the chief, the I.A. looked into it, he was suspended, but he was able to come back. Then after his stint on desk detail, he gets a suspicious death, and he pushes to investigate. Simmons said his judgment was clouded, that he was making more of the guy's death than it was because he wanted a big case, and Hoyt ended up on body detail. That's how he got here. Sometimes I just don't get that man."

Jordan knew the feeling. Why had Woody been so angry with her when it was Simmons causing his problems? And why, if he was still dating Lu, was the woman making Woody's life hell?

"I can't believe he's never ratted her out. Everyone knows this thing is personal," Seely muttered. "Though why she's got her panties in a twist over Hoyt dumping her, I'll never know. It's not like she shouldn't have seen it coming."

Jordan blinked. "He dumped her? Why? When?"

"You didn't know?" Seely frowned. "Come on, no one really expected _that_ to last. No one really knows why he dated her in the first place. Everyone knows he's hung up on you like some pathetic puppy dog."

Seely's words made Jordan smile a little. She knew that puppy dog analogy had always bothered Woody. Maybe that was why he'd handed her that stupid line about being her rebound guy. He'd been scared of them starting their dance again, and this time he'd been the one who had run. He'd pushed her away, and he'd run to Lu. Jordan had been hurt, angry and hurt, but there was a part of her that understood that fear. She'd lived with the fear of being hurt for so long, pushed everyone away, and she was usually the one that ran. She almost had to laugh at the irony.

It made sense now, in a twisted way. Woody had been angry with Jordan because she was the reason he'd gone to Lu, the reason he'd broken up with Lu, and by extension, the reason that Lu was making his life miserable. He'd kept silent about the unethical nature of his relationship with Lu and taken everything that was thrown at him because he felt guilty and believed he deserved punishment. And he felt like Jordan was the one who _should_ be punishing him, so he was angry with her.

Maybe she should have been the one to punish him. Tease him; make him jump a few hoops… Not this, though. He did not deserve this.

She ran her fingers through his hair with a faint smile. "We're some pair, aren't we?"

Seely cleared his throat. "Uh, Cavanaugh…"

"Not you, Seely." She laughed and kissed Woody's warm forehead. "Not you."


	8. Spare the Sob Stories

******Sickness and Health (Part One) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Eight: Spare the Sob Stories  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,039  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** Bodies in the Boston Morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first Crossing Jordan fanfic & my second House fanfic. The characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. In fact, I'm almost positive it _is_ wrong. But I wrote it anyway. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, written without seeing any of season 3 or 6 respectively, so... It's not canon... no siree... This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

I fully admit that Casey Williams got off easy. But I don't think she would have confessed or told them what was in her drug, and so I denied her a moment of triumph as she waited for her victims to die. This way there was hope.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**Spare the Sob Stories**

"We've gone over this forwards and backwards," Foreman said. "It's not a code. It's just bad medicine."

Chase stared at the copy of Williams' experiment journal that he'd been given. His intense concentration was not lost on House. Or Cameron. He could feel them staring at him. And their staring caused Foreman to look at him. He couldn't do this while they were watching him. He needed to think, to remember Casey Williams as he'd known her during their internship.

"_Could it be any worse?" Chase was doing his best not to listen, but Reynolds was complaining loudly. "He's the son of Rowan bloody Chase, and she's Charity Williams' should-be model daughter. She's bloody creepy. What's a girl like that want to be a doctor for anyway? She's got money. But a degree in pharmacology?"_

_Hannah Anderson laughed. "Hey, they're your interns. If you show fear—"_

"_Excuse me, I'm Dr. Williams. I'm looking for Dr. Reynolds."_

"_She's all yours," Anderson patted Reynolds on the back, laughing as she walked away. Seeing Chase standing to the side, she stopped and touched him gently on the arm. "Go easy on Reynolds, will you?"_

"_I'm not my father," Chase protested._

"_Great," Williams muttered, hearing him. "Another English Daddy's Boy."_

"_I'm not—"_

"_Yeah, and I should have been a boy. Tough break."_

Chase skimmed over the file again. _Daddy's Boy._ There it was, about twenty pages into the journal, shortly after the incoherent ramblings that followed Anderson's injection. _Daddy's Boy now has no daddy._ He closed his eyes. She'd known about him, maybe even known that he'd turned her in, so why hadn't he been attacked?

"_Get out of the way, Williams," Chase ordered, pushing her back from the bed._

"_This is _my_ patient, Daddy's Boy. Get your own."_

"_Get away from him, Williams. You're bloody killing him. Your diagnosis is wrong."_

"_No, it isn't."_

"_Then the drugs would be working, but they're not." Chase insisted. "Stay away from him."_

"_Just because the treatment doesn't work doesn't mean that the diagnosis is wrong. Sometimes people die. You can't save them all."_

Chase bolted from his chair and went to the sink. He found himself losing everything he'd eaten in the last day, knowing that House would have something to say about him "losing his cookies." He couldn't help it. He'd thought getting Williams kicked out of the internship program was enough. She couldn't do any harm if she wasn't a doctor.

He was wrong. Look at this, at what had happened. Because he was a bloody coward who wouldn't admit to turning her in.

"Chase?" Cameron asked, touching his back, rubbing it gently.

"It _is _a code, of sorts. It only makes sense to her. And in case you're wondering—Daddy's Boy was her nickname for me," Chase said. He turned away, walking towards the locker room. He needed a shower.

And then he had to face Dr. Cavanaugh.

* * *

"You are the one with power of attorney for Mr. Woodrow Wilson Hoyt, are you not?" House asked, coming into Woody's room. 

Jordan looked up at him. "According to the paperwork, yeah."

"Bit of a surprise?" House suggested.

"You could say that," Jordan stood, stretching. "When he was shot, I _had_ power of attorney. When he told me to get out of his life, I assumed that he changed it. Apparently not."

House sighed overdramatically. "I really didn't need the sob story."

Jordan glared at him. "What _do_ you need?"

"First, is there a brother?"

Jordan nodded. "Yes, Cal. He's…around, but not officially. But who am I kidding? You don't want the details. So, yes, there _is_ a brother. Why?"

"Because if Mr. Woodrow Wilson Hoyt here makes it past this, he's going to need a few things to survive. His kidneys are shot. Maybe his liver."

Jordan frowned, shaking her head. "If—If he survives? What are you saying?"

"The damage to his heart and lungs isn't life-threatening, Never was in his case. The cocktail wasn't mixed right. Or it was and she wanted him to have a slower, more prolonged death. Doesn't matter." House held up a syringe.

She stared at it. "What is that?"

"If I'm right, this will prevent anything else from happening. He'll need a new kidney. Maybe a new liver. But he'll live."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then he dies."

Jordan closed her eyes, wincing. There was something to be said for tact. "And Mrs. Dillard?"

"If you wanted her to be the test case, you're too late. She died half-an-hour ago. He's still fighting. Makes you wonder if there _is_ a spiritual aspect to healing after all," House paused, looking at Woody. "But I need to know if you want me to do this. Soon. As in, I stop talking, you answer. And then we had better try and find his brother."

"Cal's in witness protection," Jordan said softly. "He's supposed to testify against the Albanian mob. He can't help."

House looked at her. "Again with the sob story. But it doesn't tell me whether or not to give this to him."

"Give it to him."

"Are you sure? I thought you just told me he wouldn't get the transplant."

She nodded. "His brother may not be able to do it, but someone else might. He can stay on dialysis for a while. He'll get the kidney. I know he will."

House didn't say anything. It wasn't like Jordan expected him to say anything. He wasn't there to comfort her, not even there to help her. He was in this for the mystery, to solve the puzzle. And he was done now. He'd solved the puzzle, had the solution in his hands.

She wished it could be that easy for her. She didn't have the answers, she didn't know if this was going to work, and she was gambling with Woody's life. And if it _did _work, that didn't mean everything would suddenly be perfect. "He's going to hate me for this."

"You're saving his life."

"I'm not sure he'll see it that way."

House nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable, if that was possible. He stepped forward and injected the cocktail into Woody's iv. Jordan watched, her throat tightening. "How long before we know?"

"Not long."


	9. That Funny Feeling is Relief

******Sickness and Health (Part One) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Nine: That Funny Feeling is Relief  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,964  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** Bodies in the Boston Morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first Crossing Jordan fanfic & my second House fanfic. The characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. In fact, I'm almost positive it _is_ wrong. But I wrote it anyway. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, written without seeing any of season 3 or 6 respectively, so... It's not canon... no siree... This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

Okay, for the record, I have never seen the Digger episodes. All I know about Haley is what I've read. So if his character is not in character, I apologize. I suppose I could change the name and make it a generic FBI agent if I need to.

Insomnia is a very bad thing. But I guess it has side benefits for those who want more of this story because I've got nothing better to do than post this. :P

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**That Funny Feeling is Relief**

"Haley."

"Drew, it's me. Remember that deal we made?" Jordan asked with a smile.

"'Course I do. You stuck your neck out for the little guy on the totem pole," he agreed. "Got another charity case for me?"

"No…Look, it's about the little guy. Remember I told you about his big brother?"

"Yeah, the big hero," Haley continued, sticking to their code names for Woody and Cal. They'd come naturally, ever so naturally. Woody _was_ a big hero, to her, to everyone.

"The big hero. Right. Well, um, the big hero needs help from his baby brother."

She could hear Haley's frown. "I thought he didn't want the baby brother in his life."

"He doesn't have a life without him," Jordan said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "He needs a transplant, or he'll die."

"Someone _really_ doesn't like our big hero," Haley muttered. "Our guy is buried for at least the next year, Jordan."

"I know. I just… If there was any chance—I _know_ he'd do it regardless of the risk. It's who they are. So I don't want you to tell him, but—if you—if there was any way he could—"

"Jordan, what happened?"

"Oh, just a psycho with a degree in pharmacology and a need for revenge," Jordan answered off-handedly; trying to pretend that it was nothing. "I have to go, Drew. Thank you—for everything."

Jordan closed the phone and turned back to Woody. He'd hate it if he knew that she had called Haley. Cal had sobered up, had really turned his life around, and had even made strides towards taking down the Albanian mob. He'd admitted to what Woody had helped him to cover up, had taken the blame, and would have taken the punishment if the charges hadn't been dropped when he cut his deal with the FBI. Woody was proud of him. He would even let himself die to keep Cal safe from the mob.

It was noble. It was stupid, but it was why she loved him.

She sighed, and closed her eyes. House had said it wouldn't take long to know it Woody would make it, but waiting was torture. Not knowing was torture. But then, if the news had been bad, could she have coped with knowing? Maybe that little shred of hope she had, the one that had gotten her through this, had been worth much more than she would have thought.

Wait a minute.

She could have sworn… Yes, he was awake. His eyes were open. She squeezed his hand, tears running down her face. "I thought I'd lost you, Woody."

He blinked again, trying to orient himself. She bent and kissed his forehead. "I'm so glad you're alive. I—"

"Jordan." His voice startled her. She'd forgotten that she'd taken out the tube in his throat while she waited. After House told her that Woody didn't need the ventilator, she'd wanted to do it, to let him breathe on his own again, even if it was just for a few minutes.

"Yeah, Woody?" she asked, searching his face. Had she gone too far? Maybe—Maybe she shouldn't have kissed him. She'd just been so glad that he was alive, that he was conscious. He could hate her if he wanted. He just had to live.

"I really hate hospitals," Woody whispered weakly.

She laughed. "Me, too."

* * *

"Chase?" Cameron asked, wrapping her arms around herself, fighting off the chill from the wind.

House had grabbed Williams' notes, trying to make sense of them, and Foreman had stayed to help him. Cameron had _tried_ to stay, but she wasn't helping, and she knew it. She couldn't concentrate on anything other than Chase. He'd been devastated by the revelation of Casey Williams' vendetta and his possible part in it. House had finally ordered Cameron to find Chase, and she'd been grateful. She wasn't sure why the roof had been her first choice, but she didn't really want to think about it.

"It wasn't your fault."

"She chose this hospital because of me," Chase said, not turning away from the edge of the rooftop. "She wanted me to watch them die, unable to stop it. She was probably pissed because her other victims never made it here."

"House might not have seen them even if they'd lived longer afterwards. That's why she came here, Chase," Cameron said. "She _forced_ House to take on Marsham by using a clinic patient. But she didn't kill all these people just to get back at you. She killed that man in Boston before she knew you were at this hospital. It's in her notes. _'So Daddy's Boy is at PP. Time to get him back, too.'_"

"She gave us patients who were dying just so that I would watch," Chase shook his head. "It's sick."

"So is blaming yourself for what other people do," Cameron pointed out. "You couldn't stop her, Chase. She was the one who chose to do this. If not here, then it would have been somewhere else. At least here House was able to guess what she'd used."

Chase turned back. "What?"

"Detective Hoyt should recover, if he gets the transplant he needs," Cameron explained. She'd almost forgotten that Chase had missed that announcement. House had been smug, Foreman had smiled, and all of the assistants they'd been given had cheered. She smiled as she saw relief wash over Chase.

She jumped a little when he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He held on for a moment, and Cameron tried to relax. She knew that he needed this, needed to release the guilt that was tormenting him, but his pride stopped him short.

He pulled back and started towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?" she called after him, still too stunned to move.

"To make sure he gets that transplant," Chase answered, opening the door and disappearing down the stairs.

* * *

"You're going to hate me," Jordan began.

He thought of all the things he could say to that. That he could never hate her. That as angry as she made him, there would always be that part of him that stubbornly held on and loved her in spite of everything going on with him, her, and the rest of their lives. He could have said a hundred different things. He settled on one.

"Why?"

He was still trying to process the fact that he was alive. They'd told him that he had something that killed people so fast they never woke up again, right before he lost consciousness. It hadn't been a very long time to contemplate his mortality, but it was enough. And yet he was here, alive and conscious, unless he'd been condemned to a hell where he would be tormented by reliving the moment in the hospital when he'd pushed Jordan away over and over and over again.

No, it couldn't be. This was a different hospital. Only the equipment was familiar.

So what was going on?

"Dr. House offered me a solution to save your life. It prevented any further damage, and you're young. The dose wasn't as effective on you. Your heart and lungs will be fine. But your liver is iffy. And your kidneys… They're shot, Woody. You need a transplant. You can get by on dialysis for a while, but…"

Woody looked at her. "So, it wasn't a cure."

"No."

"I'm tied to that machine until I get a kidney."

"Yes." She looked at him, her eyes begging him to understand. "I'm sorry, Woody. It was that or… I couldn't lose you, Woody."

It wasn't the first time he'd heard that tone of heartbreak in her voice, but he sincerely hoped it would be the last. He reached out a hand to touch her cheek. Why had he wasted so much time being angry? He should have been grateful that she'd made it back from D.C. in one piece, not blaming her for everything that went wrong. And it wasn't really her fault. It was his. He'd been the one to mess things up by dating Lu when he wasn't, could never be over Jordan. He'd taken everything out on Jordan because she was a convenient target. He had no right to be angry with her.

He needed to apologize. Now. "Jordan, I'm not—"

"Ah, so sorry to interrupt the tender, touching reunion, but if my patient is awake, it's time to check on him," House said, causing Jordan to jump back out of Woody's reach. He let his hand fall and glared at the intruders.

He saw Foreman roll his eyes and knew Jordan hadn't missed it, either. House had come back _to_ break up the "touching" reunion. Foreman made notes on the chart before braving Woody's obvious wrath to listen to his lungs and heart. He stepped back with a smile. "Your heart and breath sounds are good. We're still monitoring your liver. It might just recover from the damage on its own. But your kidneys—"

"Jordan already told me," Woody cut him off quickly. "I understand. If I don't get a kidney, I'll die. If my liver fails—I won't get two transplants."

"Says the rules," House said. "But we're not fond of them, are we? Know anyone we can con into giving up an organ or two?"

Jordan's phone rang. She winced. Woody shook his head to let her know it was okay to answer it. "Cavanaugh."

The voice on the other end was louder than it should have been. Woody could hear the entire conversation. "Jordan, it's Haley. I don't know how, but someone told our boy about his brother."

"It wasn't me, Haley. I haven't left this room. I swear I have no idea where he is. I didn't even ask anyone to look."

"It doesn't matter. He says the deals off if he can't help his brother. He'll be there soon. So will I. And probably the Albanian mob. But the good news is, your friend will have his transplant."

_No, no, no. Cal, you idiot. _Woody looked at Jordan as she closed the phone. "Tell me that wasn't what I think it was."

"Your brother is going to help you, Woody. He doesn't care if it costs him his deal. He gets more like you every day," Jordan said with a smile, tears forming again in her eyes.

"Yeah, and we all want that because I'm such a prize," Woody muttered. "Did you tell Cal—"

"I don't know where he is, Woody. Really. I haven't left this room in hours. Not even to pee. Speaking of which, I kind of have to do that. But, no, I just talked to Haley, ran the _idea_ past him, but he wasn't going for it." She saw his disbelief. "I know you don't want him to do this, but the records from Kewanee show that he _is_ your best match. And if you need a liver transplant, even if we were to throw the rules out the window, you _need_ Cal to give it to you. You're right. UNOS would never approve both."

"But if Cal gives—"

"Woody, you're taking Cal's kidney whether you like it or not," Jordan insisted. "You might not need a liver transplant. But you have to let him help you. He loves you, and he needs to do this for you as much as you need him to do it."

Woody nodded weakly. He wanted to fight this, but he knew that there was no point. Jordan would never back down. "Jordan, I'm tired."

She took his hand. "It's okay. Get some rest."

"Why? So you don't have to feel guilty about leaving to go to the bathroom?"

"Something like that," she answered with a grin.


	10. The Gift Horse Has a Potty Mouth

******Sickness and Health (Part One) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Ten: The Gift Horse Has a Potty Mouth  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,865  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** Bodies in the Boston Morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first Crossing Jordan fanfic & my second House fanfic. The characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. In fact, I'm almost positive it _is_ wrong. But I wrote it anyway. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, written without seeing any of season 3 or 6 respectively, so... It's not canon... no siree... This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

So I'm unhappy with this chapter. I only really like the stuff with Woody and Cal. The rest sucks, in my opinion. Suggestions are welcome...I'm willing to rewrite it. The title of this chapter may not make sense, but I thought it was funny, so it stayed. Oh, and...this is the second-to-last chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

**The Gift Horse Has a Potty Mouth**

"Woody?"

He opened his eyes, looking at his brother. Cal looked different. Older. Cleaner cut. They'd given him lighter highlights in his hair, and in his suit, he looked transformed into a dot com employee, a yuppie. Streetwise, but professional. He looked good, better than Woody had expected.

"Cal."

Cal smiled. "You don't know how good it is to be called that again. Hell, I'd love to have you call me Knucklehead. I'd hug you, but I don't think that's a good idea right now."

Given that their hugs were more like wrestling takedowns, Woody had to agree. "Yeah. Probably not. Cal, you shouldn't have come. You're just getting your life back together."

"Hey, you gave me everything I have. Let me make it up to you, Woods."

"You don't have to do this, Cal. You should have stayed in the program. Jordan told me that dialysis could keep me alive for a while. I could have gotten a different kidney. Or waited until your time was up. Cal—"

"Stop arguing, Woody. I'm giving you a kidney. You'd be stupid to refuse. And you can't. Not when I've already come this far."

"I'm not," Woody said softly. He'd known the minute Jordan said it that he'd never be able to talk either of them out of it. Both Jordan and Cal were too stubborn for that, too stubborn for their own good. "But you're still an idiot, Knucklehead."

"Right back at you, big brother," Calvin's grin was huge. "They're checking me in today, getting me ready. But I had to see you first. I wanted to see for myself that you were okay."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, I can see that," Cal observed dryly, pointing to the equipment that Woody was doing his best to ignore. "They got you on morphine?"

Woody narrowed his eyes at his brother. "I thought you were clean."

"I am! Woody, sometimes I swear you—Never mind." Cal took a deep breath. "The FBI has me seeing a shrink. Guy's a real head case. Says I have a complex about you. You know, that I see you as some kind of saint, know I can never live up to it, and sabotage my life on purpose."

"Are you saying the drugs and gambling are somehow _my _fault?"

"No. I'm saying the guy's a dickhead. But the FBI is doing everything they can to make sure I don't screw this up. Therapy. Routine drug tests. Big guys with guns that watch over me. My life turned around, Woody. I swear. And you know the best part, Woody?"

Woody wasn't really sure how to respond to that one, so he said nothing. Cal's smile grew wider, if that was possible. "I don't need any of it. I _want_ to stay clean. I want to hold down this job. I want to make you proud."

"Cal," Woody began, knowing he might not get another chance at this. "I already am. Proud, I mean."

Cal turned away. They were never very good at this, talking about their feelings. Sure, Woody wore his on his sleeve and Cal took advantage of that, but that wasn't what anyone would consider talking. When Cal finally looked back, the moment had passed. "Thank you."

It was so soft Woody barely heard it. But he smiled anyway. Cal stuck his hands in his pockets. "So…where's Jordan?"

"Forget it, little brother. She's still the only woman in Boston you can't have," Woody told him.

Cal laughed. "We're not in Boston."

Woody gave him a dirty look. "Cal—"

"All right, all right," Cal held up his hands. "But you don't deserve her, Woody."

"I know."

* * *

"Jordan?" Lily's familiar, tentative voice asked, causing her to turn around. 

With a smile, she wrapped her arms around Lily, Bug, and finally Nigel. Everyone was here. She'd wanted them to come, but she knew that she couldn't ask them to; she knew they were too busy to drop everything and come to her for moral support. And she'd needed them on this case. They'd all had a part to play in it, and it was what she needed them to do. And now she had to wonder—who was running the morgue?

"Guys," she said, feeling herself tear up again and hating it. "I'm so glad you're here. But while you're here…?"

"Ah, well, we left Sydney there and came to see you," Nigel answered. "He kept insisting he was ready for the responsibility."

"Nigel saw Simmons coming and headed for the hills," Bug corrected. "Telling Sydney he was in charge was an afterthought."

Nigel ignored him. "How is he, love?"

"The drug that House gave him stopped any further damage. House won't tell anyone what's in it, keeps claiming it's going to make him rich," Jordan explained, a faint smile on her face. "Woody's kidneys are shot, though. He needs a transplant. So thank you for finding Cal, Nige."

Nigel shook his head. "I'd love to take credit for that, Jordan, but it wasn't me."

Jordan blinked. "What? If you didn't find him, who did?"

Nigel shrugged. "Haven't a clue, love. Where is he?"

"Are you here to see Detective Hoyt?" Cameron asked, coming up to them. Chase and Foreman were with her, but Chase looked rather green. Jordan remembered seeing him come into Woody's room earlier, start to speak, and leave abruptly. Ordinarily, she would have followed him and demanded to know what that was all about, but she was still waiting to know if Woody would pull through or not. Those few minutes might have been the last ones he had, and she knew that she would never have forgiven herself if she left to satisfy her curiosity.

Now, Cal was busy distracting Woody, and the others would be going up to see him soon, so she wouldn't be able to finish the conversation she needed to have with him. She could have the conversation she wanted to have with Chase instead.

"Yes, we are, love," Nigel said, turning on his charm on Cameron. "Are you here to show us the way?"

"I'm Dr. Cameron, this is Dr. Chase, and Dr. Foreman. We're going to sneak past security. Officially, Detective Hoyt's only visitors can be family—"

"Oh, love, we're family," Nigel protested. "I'm his crazy step-uncle, Bug here is the result of a little side trip that no one will discuss, and Lily is the love of Bug's life."

Jordan couldn't help her laughter at Nigel's description. Cameron's open mouth was pretty amusing, too. Bug rolled his eyes. Lily giggled. Foreman just shook his head. Nigel grinned. "Just lead the way, dear Dr. Cameron."

Jordan followed at the back of the group. Nigel dominated the conversation, telling Cameron far more than she ever wanted to know about forensics. Cameron surprised Jordan by countering with a case where they'd actually killed a patient to diagnose her.

"Wicked," Nigel agreed.

They reached the door to Woody's room, and Cal came out to meet them. He greeted everyone enthusiastically, especially Jordan. She got the works, lifted from the ground and squeezed so hard that she almost broke. She smiled at him and rubbed her bruised ribs, laughing at Woody calling out for Cal to leave Jordan alone. His voice was possessive. Jealous. Maybe there was hope for them yet.

Cal happily introduced himself to Foreman, but the big surprise came when he saw Chase. Cal hugged him fiercely, as Jordan had seen him hug Woody. "Thank you for telling me about my brother. I owe you one."

If it was possible, Chase got even greener.

* * *

"Dr. Chase!" 

_Bloody hell._ He'd known that this would catch up with him, but somehow he'd hoped that he would have more time before it did. No, he was not so lucky. He turned to find Jordan Cavanaugh looking at him. She shifted nervously.

"Listen, uh, thanks," she began. "You know, for finding Cal."

Chase nodded. "Least I could do."

She looked at him. It was a look he'd seen on her face before, right before she pulled the truth kicking and screaming out of someone. At least then it had been Hoyt, not Chase. "How _did_ you find him?"

"Companies like the one Calvin works for insist on physicals. He had a condition as a child that would be noted on any physical. It's not too common, not too rare. But I pretended that I was compiling a study, got enough information on people who'd had the condition. Matching blood types and physical description, I narrowed it down. I called a few, asking about their medical history," Chase smiled a little. "You might want to talk to him about his cover story. He told me about his mother and father, how they died. Then I told him if he knew Woodrow Wilson Hoyt, he should know that he was at Princeton Plainsboro in critical condition. Cal didn't believe me, but I guess he talked to someone who confirmed it."

"Nice," Cavanaugh complimented. "I'll have to remember that."

"Might not work as well for you. I _did_ have my father's reputation to help me."

She laughed. "I get it. You posed as _Rowan_ Chase to make it more official."

Chase shrugged. "Most people haven't realized he's dead."

"Right," she agreed with a wince, obviously remembering how she'd made that mistake. "One question left. Why?"

"Casey Williams. She came here for revenge against me. She wanted me to watch helplessly as the patients died," Chase confessed. "I disagreed with her on a case before I turned her in. I said she was killing the patient. She said I couldn't save them all."

"Wow," Cavanaugh breathed like it was a curse. "She was one messed up woman."

Chase didn't say anything. He couldn't. He looked away, but he was still aware of the way she was studying him. "You're thinking this is your fault. That you should have done something years ago to prevent all this. But, tell me, Chase, were any of the things you saw or suspected homicidal?"

"No…Unethical, but not life-threatening, not before that last case," Chase answered slowly. "She'd given people treatment that they'd refused out of ignorance or fear. She _saved_ lives. But she was still dangerous. God, how can I bloody say that about her and still work for House?"

Cavanaugh considered. "Checks and balances? House has a team. You, Foreman, and Cameron. He has people to answer to, people to stop him if he's out of line. Could that have saved Casey? I don't think so. You got the information to the program. They chose not to pursue criminal charges. Maybe if they had… But there are no guarantees, Chase. Maybe she would have killed _you_ years ago, and we wouldn't be having this conversation. And the man I lo—Woody would be dead right now."

Chase looked at her. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. I still feel…responsible."

"Do me a favor, huh?" she asked, patting him on the back. "Ease up on that guilt. I'm still looking for proof that it kills, but I know it sure doesn't help."

Chase looked at her. "You're bloody crazy, you know that, right?"


	11. Tied in a Neat Bow

******Sickness and Health (Part One) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Eleven: Tied in a Neat Bow  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,367  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** Bodies in the Boston Morgue have ties to dying patients at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first Crossing Jordan fanfic & my second House fanfic. The characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. In fact, I'm almost positive it _is_ wrong. But I wrote it anyway. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, written without seeing any of season 3 or 6 respectively, so... It's not canon... no siree... This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

A while back, Huddytheultimate requested more Wilson and more Cuddy in this story. I couldn't find a place for them sooner, and I don't write them well, but I gave it a shot.

Originally, all I had for the ending was one scene, a Woody/Jordan scene that didn't do much to resolve the loose ends in this story. I tried to fix that with this version. I'm not sure I succeeded. But I'll call it complete for now.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**Tied in a Neat Bow**

"It must be fascinating," Wilson observed, propping open the door to Cuddy's office.

She set the paper down on her desk and tented her hands. "House's proposal to the FDA for his 'miracle drug.'"

"Very fascinating," Wilson nodded. He shut the door, standing just inside the doorway while she went over a budget report. She signed her name to the bottom of the page and stopped, looking up at him. "Why are you still here?"

"Why are you?" he countered. "Seems to me there's a party upstairs."

"Seems to me hospital policy restricted Detective Hoyt's visitors to family only. According to the records, Hoyt has only one living relative. His brother." Cuddy stacked her folders and set them aside. "How many people are currently up there?"

Wilson smiled. "Twelve. But there's still room."

Cuddy shook her head. "I already congratulated Detective Hoyt on his recovery."

"And he invited you to his get-well party," Wilson reminded her, coming over to sit down across from her. He studied her again. "You don't have to be the administrator all the time. Woody—he asked _all_ of us to call him that—has two hours before his surgery. He asked you to come by. Maybe you should."

The doors bounced open before Cuddy could answer. House poked his head into the office. "I ordered strippers for the G-Men. Just thought I should let you know."

Startled, Cuddy blinked as the door shut behind him. Wilson frowned. "He was just kidding."

Cuddy got to her feet. "I'm not sure he was."

Wilson followed her out of the office. "Are you sure he didn't just say that to get you to leave your office?"

"And what have you been doing for the past ten minutes?"

* * *

Somehow, miraculously enough, the Albanian mob never found Cal. It might have had something to do with House's creative patient naming system, maybe something to do with the rumored connection House had with a _different_ mob, but the operation went successfully. 

Well, almost successfully. Cal came out fine. Woody spiked a post-op fever and went in and out of consciousness. That was how Cal was forced to say goodbye, during one of Woody's lucid moments. Then agents rushed Cal back to the witness protection program.

When Woody fully regained consciousness, he wasn't happy. Jordan was there to placate him. She took his hand in hers. "He'll be okay, Woody. And you _did_ say goodbye, even if you don't remember it."

"Yeah, I guess," Woody agreed. "But I don't know if I'll see him again. He's in protection. Even if he testifies, he may not be able to come back."

"And both of you knew that when you went into the deal," Jordan reminded him. "Woody, he will be okay. And the good news is, you won't need to pull him for a liver transplant. Your liver is healing. And your body accepted the kidney. You should be out of here in no time."

"Yeah, I know. I already asked for leave. Soon as I'm out of here, I'm heading for a nice, sunny beach," Woody smiled at the thought. He closed his eyes, picturing it with a dreamy expression on his face. Jordan watched him with a smile of her own.

She looked at him, trying to find the right way to start this conversation. "Any chance there's room for someone else on that beach?"

He looked back at her, eyebrows raised high. "You mean, as friends?"

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. "No. Not just as friends."

He gripped her hand tightly. "You really mean that? Before I got sick… We weren't even speaking. We were fighting. I was angry at you for things that weren't your fault. And even beyond that, Jordan… You've changed. Grown up. And, as my brother reminded me, I don't deserve you."

"Well, as apologies go, it's a start," she said with a smile.

He laughed and then his face sobered. "You were right, though. You grew up; I didn't. I pushed you away, blamed you for things that weren't your fault. When you were ready to let me in, I backed off. I ran because I was scared. When you didn't break things off with Pollack right after the Inn, I was afraid that we were back to square one. I didn't want to be hurt again, so I left before that happened. I ended up hurting you _and_ Lu. Can you forgive me?"

"Eventually," she teased. He looked at her. She laughed again. "Okay, so I've got some things to apologize for, too. I don't blame you for being afraid or for running. Me kettle, you pot, kind of thing. We could spend days placing blame, Woody, and it wouldn't do us any good. Maybe my timing sucks…but I know now I don't want to do this anymore. I love you. I loved you then, and I love you now."

He touched her cheek and pulled her towards him until their lips met. "I love you, Jo. I loved you all along, even when I tried not to, when I didn't want to…"

"You know, Woody, maybe we should try calling it even."

"A blank slate?"

"For you?" Jordan asked softly. "Or for me?"

He shook his head. "For both of us. Call it a second chance, a fresh start, call it whatever you want. Just promise me we'll do it together this time."

"Promise."

* * *

"I am _not_ getting in that thing," Woody protested immediately. He backed straight into Jordan, stepping on the toe of her boot. He knew it was hospital policy, but he was not getting into a wheelchair again. Ever. 

House smiled at him. "Oh, come now, Detective. You know the rules."

Woody rolled his eyes. "A man who was willing to throw out the rules on transplant surgery, a man with a history of breaking the rules, is trying to insist that I sit in a wheelchair?"

"Come on, Woody, you know he's just trying to get a rise out of you," Jordan said, touching his arm gently. Nigel, Bug, and Lily had gone back to Boston, and he was glad they weren't here to see this. Everything in Jordan's body language told him he was being a big baby about this.

"I'm sure we can skip the wheelchair this time," Cameron said quickly.

House sighed. "Fine. So, Hoyt, your G-Men got this case all wrapped up?"

Woody decided not to correct House. He repeated what Seely had told him earlier. "Princeton P.D. found Williams' lab. It was full of chemicals and more notes. They also tested the spray in her mace bottle. It wasn't mace. It was a short-term knockout gas that she used to stun her victims in order to inject them. It also sped up the progress of the drug, but you know that."

"So it's all over?" Chase asked softly.

"Not entirely," Jordan corrected. "There will be a civil trial, I'm sure."

"Civil?"

"Williams is dead. No one can prosecute her," Woody explained. "But she had a trust fund that she hardly touched. Families of the victims will probably sue for everything in it and more."

"But not you?" Cameron asked, curious.

He shook his head. "I should have stopped her. And I lived. I'm the lucky one."

Jordan squeezed his hand, stepping up to kiss him. "Very lucky."

"Make sure you keep in touch," House said. "I want to know how you're doing."

"He's got a bet with Wilson," Foreman added, causing everyone to roll their eyes. Woody knew that House wouldn't be the only one. He was sure the precinct and the morgue would have their own betting pools.

"Thank you," Woody said finally, shaking each doctor's hand in turn. Cameron hugged him, to his surprise. Jordan smiled at him over Cameron's shoulder.

"If you're ever in Boston," Jordan began, about to tell them to look her up, but Woody pulled her away first. He was indebted to House and his team, and it wasn't like Woody wasn't grateful for everything they'd done for him, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be reminded of this anytime soon.

"I'm coming to visit," House called after their retreating backs.


End file.
